Fail
by Keriara
Summary: An unhappy Shishido goes to Atobe's place for the sole purpose of getting drunk, but instead gets caught up in a back and forth exchange that he just can't win. [Unsubtle references to AtoJi, Silver Pair]


**A/N**: Second PoT fic, first fic containing Hyoutei members (I hope they're somewhat in character? Oo''). Was trying something new; _please_ let me know what you think!

**A/N (2)**: HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY, **SHEIK'S LONELY**!! This is so overdue it's not even funny. It's so not a Friday either. I'm really really sorry! -grovels- Please don't hate it (fic-wise and pairings-wise). I was trying to make it a surprise, but…I failed. Yea. -pathetic- This is for you anyway...and I'm sorry it's so late, again.

**A/N (3)**: If you read this, **KiriharaAkaya**...KNOW THAT YOUR FIC IS GOING TO BE POSTED WITHIN THE WEEK. It's 2/3s done. I'm so sorry it's so late as well! -is a really awful person-

**Warnings: **Swearing and sad, sad attempts at humour.

**Disclaimer: **_Prince of Tennis _belongs to Konomi Takeshi. Damn.

---

Atobe raised an eyebrow the moment Shishido entered the room. "Don't tell me you angered Choutarou _again_."

"Astute of you to notice." A withering glare. "I wonder what gave it away."

"Isn't this …what, the second time in two days?"

"Yes," he replied unhappily, striding across the room to the bottle that sat beside several overturned wine glasses, righting one and pouring himself a glass.

"How _do_ you do it, Shishido? Even ore-sama is not capable of such a feat."

Another glare, this time as he lifted the glass to his lips and tipped it back. Then a splutter. "Atobe, what the _hell_ is this?"

"I believe it's more commonly known as beer."

"Wh – I _know_ that. What is it _doing_ here? Since when do you drink it?"

"I was experimenting. I gather you don't like it?"

"It tastes like _piss_."

"I find it highly interesting that you would draw such a parallel. Are you by any chance familiar with the taste of such a fluid?"

"…go fuck a tree, Atobe."

"Touchy today, aren't we."

A silence, one in which Shishido promptly paid no heed to Atobe, instead rummaging through the wine racks set against the wall. A triumphant sound erupted from his throat as he straightened, holding up a dusty bottle.

"I knew you had one more of these somewhere." He uncorked it, and proceeded to pour himself a glass after righting yet another one from the tray.

"You know that'll cost you." Atobe was not amused. "That's my last bottle."

"Order some more, then. You're not exactly lacking in money."

"That's not the point."

"Oh?"

Atobe closed his eyes. "…Shishido, _why_ are you here?"

Shishido raised the glass at him in mock-toast. "Sampling your superb wine selection before they go bad. And hoping I'll get drunk in the process."

"Your face is more liable to go bad than my wine."

"Astoundingly creative insult, Atobe."

"I _am_ creativity personified, Shishido."

"Mustn't forget conceited, too."

"You really are angry today."

"I'm not."

"And bratty."

"I'm _not._"

"And you're doing a wonderful job of emulating a two-year old right now - which isn't all too surprising, seeing as it's _you_ we're talking about."

"Shut the hell up, Atobe."

"Are my comments bothering you? You're welcome to leave. The door's in the way you came from." He waved noncommittally in its direction.

Shishido glowered at Atobe, then proceeded to ignore him again, instead downing the glass in his hand before refilling it. Atobe let out an exasperated sigh.

"Look, if you're not going to disappear anytime within the next five minutes, kindly sit down. I don't particularly care to converse with you if I have to crane my neck to do so."

"Then don't." Despite saying that, he took a seat across from Atobe, wine glass in one hand, wine bottle in the other. He poured himself another glass.

"So what did you do this time?" Atobe reached over and liberated the bottle from the other's grip. "Cheat on him?"

Shishido jerked as if he had just been slapped. "I would _never ever_ do that."

"Then?" Atobe tilted the bottle, watching the liquid fill the slender wineglass he held. "It must have been pretty serious if Choutarou decked you."

He gritted his teeth, gingerly touching his cheek, where he knew a bruise now stood in all of its glory. "We had an argument. That's all."

Atobe arched an eyebrow. "'That's all,' he says. Why? Over what?"

A glare. "Bet you wish you knew."

He shrugged. "You're the one who came here."

"For _alcohol_, not for a counselling session."

"You know, ore-sama's house is _not_ a bar, contrary to belief. I don't even know where you got that idea from."

"Let's pretend it is today, alright?" He reached for the bottle again.

Atobe exhaled, slightly annoyed. " You're even more impossible to talk to when you're moping. Hurry up and make up with Choutarou."

"And how do you propose I go about doing that, oh great one?"

His reply was instantaneous. "Sex."

"Sex?" Shishido echoed, blinking. He lowered the bottle to the table that stood between them.

"Surely you've heard of it before? It's when two people get together and copul–"

"Don't lecture me, Atobe. I _know_ what it is."

"Then you should take my word for it when I tell you that it's a foolproof plan."

"Like you would know."

"I _do._ Works like a charm with Jirou everytime."

There was a brief pause. "Are you trying to tell me that you've actually _had sex _with that narcoleptic?"

"Why the shock? Don't tell me you haven't done it be–"

"Of _course_ I have."

"Very good."

"Just not with Jirou."

An icy silence followed that statement. "I would hope not, _Shishido_. May that thought never cross your mind again, lest your bruise finds itself another companion. Or two."

"I never intended to do anything of that sort!" Shishido said defensively.

"Just making myself clear, that's all."

"Thanks, Atobe." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I must say though, I'm surprised that you even _get_ anything done with him."

Atobe smirked. "Why do you think he's always falling asleep in public?"

"Because he doesn't get enough sleep at night?"

"Right."

"Okay…"

"Follow that thought a bit further, Shishido."

"I don't see…" He trailed off, then stared at Atobe as the implications of the statement hit him.

"Ore-sama no bigi ni yoina." Atobe's smirk widened.

"That's sick, Atobe."

"You're just jealous that you can't get anything."

"Fuck you!" He snapped.

"I'll pass, thank you," Atobe deadpanned. "Some other time, perhaps."

Shishido muttered a long stream of expletives under his breath, before growling, "Can't a man just drink in peace?"

"Keep in mind that you're in my house uninvited, Shishido. You're lucky you're still here and not out on the sidewalk."

"That's awfully kind of you, Atobe. I'll remember that the next time you get depressed and you show up unannounced and decide to crash at my place for a night."

"For one, your place would be the last place I would 'crash' at, as you so eloquently put it, if I ever became depressed," he shot back. "But that would never happen anyway because two, ore-sama and depression do _not_ go together." There was a brief pause, one in which Shishido spluttered. "Oh, and Shishido? You had no intention of spending the night here, _right_?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Atobe. I told you that I'm only here for the wine."

"Good, because I'm expecting Jirou within the hour. For that matter, you might want to leave before he arrives."

"This late? I wonder why." His voice was sarcastic, perhaps a tad bitter. It caught Atobe's attention, and he rolled his eyes long-sufferingly.

"Stop being a girl and go apologize," he said. "It's not going to kill you."

"No, but _he_ might."

"He won't if you're not standing next to him," Atobe pointed out. The wine bottle now laid on the table between the two of them, relatively forgotten, two half-full wineglasses beside it.

"He won't listen."

"This is _Choutarou_ we're talking about, are we not? When would he ever _not_ listen?"

"You haven't seen him angry." Shishido couldn't suppress a wince at the memory.

"Then make him not angry."

"Are you even paying attention, Atobe? He won't listen to me."

"Did you try?"

"No, but –"

"I'm getting the distinct impression that you don't _want _to make up with him."

"What? I do! But he should be the one to apologize first! It's _his_ fault for assuming that – that –"

"Oh, so that's the problem. You don't want to be the first to give in. Were you always this childish?"

"...you don't know what happened."

"Well now, that's not my fault, is it? It's not like I didn't offer my precious time to listen to you. If I recall correctly, _you_ turned it down like it was –"

"_Fine_."

"Fine, what?"

"I'll tell you, but..."

"I'm feeling vastly flattered that you're deciding to let me in on your secret."

A hard glare. "...but you leave me alone and let me get drunk after."

"You sound like an alcoholic. If your fangirls knew, they would be so, so disappointed with you."

"Are you willing to listen or not?"

Atobe tilted his head. "You have my utmost attention."

He was quiet for a few seconds, before tersely saying, "I forgot his birthday. And said a few things I, uh, probably shouldn't have during the argument."

A pregnant silence.

"It wasn't on purpose!" Shishido protested.

"How do you _forget_ your own boyfriend's birthday?"

"I was busy!"

"_Geki dasa_, Shishido."

His eye twitched. "That's _my_ phrase!"

"It's apt, no?"

"You pompous, phrase-stealing, a –"

"At least I don't _forget_ Jirou's birthday." Atobe's voice was cold. "And you still managed to screw things up after? I can imagine why he would hit you, and I don't blame him."

Shishido went unnaturally quiet. Atobe could almost feel the anger and misery emanating from his direction, and something akin to pity found its way to his heart. Although really, Shishido didn't _deserve_ any pity, much less from him.

"Choutarou once told me," Atobe said abruptly after several more seconds of silence. "that he likes this special import wine from France."

Shishido looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"So what? It's not like I can just fly over to France and get it for him."

Atobe stood, stretching, and made his way to his collection of wine bottles. He stood there for a minute, his eyes roaming over the different labels, before reaching over and pulling from the midst a slender, ruby-red bottle.

"This." He strode back to Shishido and shoved it in his hands, who almost dropped it. "His favourite. Choutarou really likes the taste of it. It's more sweet than anything, and if I recall correctly, he has a penchant for sweet things."

Shishido just stared at the bottle. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

Atobe resisted the urge to throw something at him. "Forgetful _and_ dense. You _give _that to him, Shishido, and tell him that you're really sorry, and that you'll never be an idiot again. Just don't say how you came by it, and you'll be fine."

Shishido's eyes widened, and he stared up at Atobe, opening his mouth to say something. Before he could do so, however, there came a rap on the doorframe, drawing the attention of both of the room's occupants to it. One of Atobe's servants stood in the doorway, and she bowed deeply. "Bocchama. The person you were expecting is here."

"I'll be with him in a minute." Atobe replied, dismissing the servant with a flick of his wrist. To Shishido, he said, "Right. Now you. I think it's time for you to go."

"You can't just –"

"Yes, I can. This is _my_ house, Shishido."

"Why are –"

"Jirou's here."

"How do you –"

"Because he _always_ comes here at this time."

"But it's just Ji –"

"He might be dressed a bit _differently_. And acting a bit differently. You might not want to see him tonight."

"Everyone does that from time to –"

Atobe brought a hand up to his forehead resignedly. "Shishido, you obviously cannot take a hint when it's given to you, so let me say this straight out: unless you want to see Jirou in a _French maid's outfit, _I suggest you high-tail out of here."

"It's not like – _a_ _what?_" A strangled sound erupted from his throat.

Atobe just shrugged, as if what he had just said were something everyone did. "It's become a weekly tradition. He dresses up in what I tell him to, and as part of foreplay we engage in –"

Another choked sound. "Stop. Just _stop. _I do _not_ want to hear another word about your sex life"

"Then get out, go forth and improve yours. And never bother me again." He paused. "After you pay me for that bottle, that is. And that other one you opened. Don't think I'll forget, either."

"I wi – just die, Atobe." He grabbed the bottle and headed for the door. "So much for getting drunk here."

"If you still want to, do it with Choutarou. You'll just make things worse if you returned home drunk. Surely you knew that."

"…I guess you're right…" He conceded reluctantly.

"Of course I'm right. And after you're both sufficiently inebriated, you apologize, and end it with sex. All's well that ends well. Now get out."

"…I'll keep that in mind." He was about to leave the room when he hesitated in the doorway. "Atobe?"

"Why are you still here?" Atobe's voice was laced with irritation.

"Than – oh, forget it."


End file.
